Fever
by stormur
Summary: This is Warren and Layla finally coming together. Written with the idea of them slightly older, a year or so after Sky High.


It wrote itself like an outburst. Perhaps a drabble. I just know it was a terrible compulsion to write of these two coming together, as it should have been. A bit dirty but this is what happens when Warren Peace is involved.  
>It starts with a glimpse of them in a bookstore, where they finally crossed paths after so long and eventually ending up at his place.<br>And Layla has plant mimicry. I believe this is well-known... and if not, it's just on the list of her powers.

I feel all sorts of rusty, a little regretful and a whole lot of dirty for having written this and cannot explain how I jumped right into these two after a two-year hiatus from writing. A fandom I just dipped my toes into recently because of my resurgence and fascination with Warren Peace. Writing that I am still working hard to perfect. The idea of them hit me so hard a few nights ago, having a certain song playing in the background and then this... all of this just... happened. Like them. Pent-up desire unleashed. Having Warren involved helps. I just hope I leave it up long enough and don't change my mind two minutes after I publish this.  
>And despite my countless readings to make sure it's a bit of all-right, I truly apologise if there is anything I missed, any mistakes.<p>

* * *

><p><em>"Meet me. I need to see you," she had breathed into the receiver. "It hurts."<em>

He refused to look at her as he carefully unwrapped her shoulder, the ribbon gauze unravelling in his trembling hand. This was his fault, all his fault and wondered how she was allowing him to be this close to her, to see what he had done. He willed himself to look at her. He whispered her name. And she slowly turned her head, biting her lower lip, her eyes big and wet. His eyes drifted behind her, to the mirror above the sink. He stared at the shoulder. "I know why you cry." he said quietly, relieved that the exposed skin bore nothing of his marking. Nevertheless, he understood its ghostly suggestion, of its pain etched beneath her skin, to remind her that he had done so.

_Had it been wrong?_

She had responded like a surge of lightning to his touch and when he had felt it like a strike to the chest, her vines had braided, seemingly gone haywire and had trapped his hand upon her shoulder. A halo of fire had flashed upon her, blinding him as it forked its way into her shoulder, beneath his palm. And when it snapped her vines, his hand flew to his chest and he held it there, as if he, himself had been burned, watching how his touch had cauterized her flesh for a brief second, branding her. When they parted, it seemed like eternity had flung them apart.

_There, the spark..._

To any other, he had solely touched her shoulder to get her attention and she had simply turned to look at him. Like two strangers meeting for the first time...

"Layla...?"

The backdraft of his emotions entrapped him, suffocating it seemed. Backed up into the corners of his mind, he overturned memory and realised it didn't matter. Back then, her heart had belonged to another. _They had created stories to give others their fleeting happy endings, deliberately rejecting the exegesis to their true meanings... tearing away the annotations of their connection._

"Warren?"

Their eyes unlocked. The world seemed to shift back in spades, slotting into its place without meaning to even though he felt slightly off and turned away from her, leaning heavily against the bookcase as he rubbed his forehead. His breath hitched as he eyed the pile of ash upon the floor between them, his lips parting in wonder as her eyes grew wide. He knelt down in pain to see what his book had become. "I guess I owe you one." he said under his breath. "Fuck." he mouthed and stilled when she reached down to his level, touching his knee. "I think you owe me more than that, Warren."

Before anything, he thought, was the need to disabuse her mouth of his name.

She looked behind her, her hands gripping the edge of the sink until her knuckles paled. Eventually her eyes found his in the glass, the rivulet of a tear staining her face. Her breath caught and he held her in place when she seemed to sway. "Kiss me." she had said and he closed his eyes, mentally fighting it, resisting her and felt those thoughts searing, traveling beneath his skin, blood thready through his veins, the unsound thrumming of his beating heart like thunder in his ears.

If he isn't careful, he will burn her again.

Her fingertips nipped at his shirt buttons, the hem of his shirt traced by the fluttering of her touch. She tasted his name. He surged forward and kissed her. Ribboned his hands with the gauze, to distract himself from touching her for he couldn't bear to hurt her again. And could taste the fever in the kiss, the heat of his mouth dispelling such tiny noises from her throat and the kiss became more frantic, wet and incessant, her hands tugging at his hair, grasping his face, not knowing how to catch him, to keep him close. She drew her arms around his neck, suckling at his lower lip and all he could hear within the small confinement of the bathroom was the heavy sound of their breathing, her whimpering, the whirlwind of his regret making him dizzy... _if he were to hurt her again, this place would consume itself_... for what could be holding him back? As he forced himself off her, a filament of saliva hung upon their lips as they separated and her vines captured him, furling his arms to keep him in place, the ribbon gauze falling to the floor. As her chest heaved, her eyes glassy, she shook her head. "I shall end this, Warren. I will end you." another rivulet down her cheek. He grabbed her hair, roughly but not enough to hurt her. "Layla, why are you fooling yourself?" He searched her face, the sheen of sweat upon her flesh, her lips... it made her seem sticky like honey, her breathing measured. A quivering finger outlined her lips, rubbing the fullness of the lower one and he leaned his forehead against hers, inhaling her in so deep, the scent of her flesh, the tremulous breath that escaped her numbing lips, as if she were his only source of oxygen. She withdrew her vines once she noted he wouldn't escape and held his face, wishing him closer, rubbing her face against his in the very manner of a cat. He kissed her tear-stained cheeks, licking at the soft flesh, the salt of her tears a reprieve on his tongue. The grip in her hair a bit tighter as he breathed onto her throat, the hummingbird strum of her pulse against his lips and he sucked at the flesh there, knowing that it hurt but she didn't fight him, his eyes turning at the whispered litany of his name breathed against his ear.

He let go of her hair and took hold of her arms, a fever leaving trails upon them as his hands traveled down, down, slowly down and dropped to his knees before her, burying his face into her stomach, reverently kissing, wishing the material of her dress would melt away, breathing in deep the honeysuckle that clung to every inch of her, wishing her stripped, vulnerable. Her hands tugged at his hair and he raised his eyes to her face. In response she took hold of her skirts, lifting them. Warren's hands blindly felt the stockings, the garters, mouthing at the tiny rosebud clasps but he would not remove them. She had forsaken the need to wear panties. He could see how wet, how eager she was and when he brought his finger close, she flinched. He followed his finger with his mouth and started to lick her, his tongue slowly, very slowly teasing her inner thighs before he slipped inside and she bowed slightly over him, her hands grasping his shoulders, whimpering and shivering despite the incandescence of his body, his mouth. As he thrust his tongue deep within her, her scent a narcotic to his senses, fingers splayed against her abdomen, his other hand teasing as it followed his mouth. Her fingers actually hurt him as they tangled themselves into his hair, digging into his scalp. She wailed in desire, hummed in pain, his name oh how she intonated his name.

Warren reluctantly pulled away, rising to his full height and adjusted himself before pushing her back. She slightly closed her trembling legs and he shook his head. She did her best to balance herself as she spread her legs for him. He pushed two of his fingers into her, lifting her almost completely off the sink and her breath hitched, arching her back as she clenched her eyes tight, biting her lip. He pushed in deep, intoxicated by her wetness. She writhed and he came closer, noticing how she had broken the skin on her bottom lip. He sucked on it until the taste of copper was lost on his tongue, withdrawing his fingers slowly, teasing and pushed in again with a grunt. Layla tilted her head back, purring deep within her throat. He fucked her ruthlessly with his fingers, kissing her rough and almost came too close to incinerating the whole building when her hand came over his, urging him deeper, faster.

"Who are you?" he breathed into her mouth.

But every rose had its thorn.

"You make a mess of me."

He looked into her eyes and she came for him and he swallowed her cry, kissing her and kissing her until his jaw hurt, seeing sparks behind his eyes. She winced as she removed his fingers eventually, her chest heaving and narrowed her wet eyes to the tap. He furrowed his brow, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucked the taste of her with greed. Watching her the whole time, making sure she didn't slip. But she was concentrating on regaining her breath, watching him all the same. She rushed forward, holding onto him like a lifeline. The heat of his desire made him lightheaded and he stepped back, pulling her away from the sink, into him and he hit the wall hard. Her eyes were closed, her breathing strenuous and one hand grasped the wall for support but he couldn't stand for long and slid down, closing his eyes when he hit the floor. She was straddling him now, staring at him determindedly. He caressed her face repeatedly, his hands flitting over her features delicately and she kissed his palms. Her fingers toyed with his belt buckle. "Layla..." he licked his lips, the taste of her in his mouth, still, and he bit his lower lip, wanting. "Say my name again." she whispered breathlessly. He did as she asked, his finger trailing her collarbone. "This night cannot be undone, Layla." the room seemed to be getting smaller. She kissed him.

"It doesn't hurt anymore." another kiss.

His hand drifted to her shoulder. Yet he still apologised. She held onto his face. "I need you."

It took every ounce of strength to stand again and she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, kissing all over as he unlocked the door, into the darkness of the hallway where he tried to remember where the bedroom was, fingers scraping the wall as he lost himself within her kisses and her soft mouth and breathy sighs. She moaned as he pushed her against the wall, trying to gather his bearings, holding onto her face. "What you are doing to me, Layla. Layla, Layla..." kissed her swollen lips and stole the breath from her. "I can fuck you right here." he growled. And she giggled, tugging at his hair again. "You can fuck me everywhere, Warren Peace." she whispered into his neck. He growled again, in provocation and kissed her again and again, dragging her against the wall until he got a good grip of her, taking her into the room. They fell onto the bed and she didn't mind his weight as he settled onto her, his hands rough upon her and she implored for him to be rougher and he leaned onto an elbow as she fumbled with his belt, sighing sweet for she liked the sound of it coming undone, desperately pushing down his trousers as far as she could and took him in hand. She spread her legs wider as he came over her, wincing as she held him tight, teasing her entrance, arching her back as the head scraped the sensitivity of her, spreading her wetness, her toes curling. He closed his eyes as he entered her, shocked at how tight she was. She managed halfway, her eyes widening slightly when she realised he wasn't completely in. She dug her nails into his upper arm and pushed at him. He obeyed, rolling over so she could be on top. He lifted her by the waist, helping her settle onto him.

The sight of her in her dress, the skirts hiding their deed, the loss of a button from her bodice, the unraveling of her long hair was enough to unsettle the storm within him yet it all went to the wayside as he finally filled her, her swollen lips parting, her breath held. She stilled, clenching the material of his shirt tightly in her small, trembling hands. "Layla," he rasped. "Move." So quietly he had said it, convinced she didn't hear him. Her eyes fluttered, evoking a shaky breath to linger upon her lips before she drew it in. She seemed so overwhelmed, so wanton upon him that he couldn't believe the discipline he was enduring, this miraculous subjection of not having everything spent in flames. They were still half dressed and the room seem to swell with the heat of their consummation, constrict with the loss of air. He carefully lifted himself, leaning onto a palm as the other caressed her face gently. "Layla, are you ok?" She nodded slowly before leaning into him. Their lips brushed against each other, sharing breath, the only breath they seem to survive on within this room. His hand cupped her cheek and she turned her head, her mouth seeking his fingers, sucking at them until she bit lightly. She rested her palms against his chest and pushed him back down.

She had heard.

And moved haltingly at first until they found a pace she wanted, achingly slow when all he wanted was to consume her to completion but he allowed her to do as she wished with him. Her hair completely undone by her slight movements and as she leaned down to kiss him, the rain of her red hair caressed his face, making his skin run. He took hold of it, his fingers grasping tight as he held her down, kissing her deep. She relented, sitting up again as she picked up a faster pace, straining her slim throat as she leaned her head back and she drew his hand over her chest, feeling the erratic beat of her heart. And when she came for him, it was a sound he never wanted to forget and he followed thereafter, thoroughly blinded by the violence of his release. Life stopped for an instant until it all came rushing back, as if he were free-falling and Warren pulled her down into the sheets, smirking as she squeaked, embracing, suffocatingly embracing, his eyes closed. Breath was hard to come by and they were drenched with sweat. A hand fisted the sheets, the other in her hair and buried his face into her neck, hearing her small sound of discontent when he removed himself. He whispered her name, sensing a sensitivity to his ears that made them ache. Everything seemed hyper-sensitive, as if they had been flung back to earth. He moved closer to her rather possessively, the strands of her red hair clinging to his lips as he mouthed her head, leaving countless of drowsy kisses behind. And her touch was home.

"I want more," she whispered. "My deeper sunshine."


End file.
